


You're Not Here - HD Doesn't Equal Quality

by LukeTheFirst (NagitosWaifu)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond
Genre: Animals, Bat Family, Child Neglect, Corruption, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Never watched YJ's cartoon, Original Character Death(s), Slurs, Substance Abuse, Young Justice characters are COMICVERSE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NagitosWaifu/pseuds/LukeTheFirst
Summary: Terry's lifestyle changed once, so why not again? It's better this way. Bruce accepts the boy never improve if he doesn't have a true teacher, like he did all those years ago. Because of that, the past that left him behind, or the past he'd abandoned, comes back in full force without any regards of his sentiments. Once a month isn't bad, once every while isn't too bad. Nevertheless, left with his thoughts, Terry meets somebody who knows more than he lets on.This person comes and goes, leaving more questions than answers.Appearantly that "Old Man" urban legend isn't so fake as Terry initially thought.





	You're Not Here - HD Doesn't Equal Quality

 

 

_You gladly gave me everything you had and more,_

_You craved my happiness._

_When you made me feel joy, it made you smile,_

_But now I feel your stress._

 

_Love was never meant to be such a crazy affair, no_

_And who has time for tears?_

_I never thought I'd sit around and cry for your love,_

_'til now._

** _"You're Not Here" by Mary Elizabeth McGlynn_ **

 

 

 

 

“Batman, once more?” The news report rose a brow, watching the unfolding scene. Grayson slouch onto the old couch, feet extended loosely on the floor, souring his once unreadable expression. “Heard anything about this, Grayson?”

“Hmm… No, the league is the same as ever. And you know me and her aren’t on speaking terms.”

“So, I’m guessing Bruce and I, shall have a small visit.”

Pressing the remote buttons 52, the recently installed new animal channel, in hopes of lightening the strangling mood. On the other hand, just preferred hearing about his alias’ animal preserve project. Alongside a partial desire witnessing all sorts of new extraterrestrial animal lifeforms. Their newest channel featured out-of-planet creatures, incredible compared to their out-dated Animal Planet.

“Damian, you really need to leave that man alone, he’ll ruin you and ‘Batman’.”

Grayson’s posture stiffen, biting his lower lip, containing more bitterness than presently expressed. Rubbing his right temple, easing the obvious rigged anger leaking throughout the room.

“Regardless, I still need to check on Ace and Roulette. Roulette is perfect, but I do worry. She’s only three years old. The fact Father took the defect makes me a bit relieve. He’s old and any company is good company.”

Grayson sighed, he’d said the more annoying word. But it’s fact, regardless of sentimentality. Their bond was more father to son, than his actual biological connections. That, however, didn’t stop neither Mother from being his Mother nor Father from being his Father. If he wanted to object, he’d kept it to himself and pretended it didn’t bother him. They’ve played this song and dance far too many times. Going on about it again only caused problems than solved. Grayson was dead set in never stepping foot again near the Wayne’s till either of them died.

Wanting more than anything that he, Damian Grayson, followed suit.

But the family drama wasn’t his, maybe indirectly than anything else, so he remain inconsiderate and visited the old grumpy man, occasionally striking for investment or help in investigations.

“You should really asked more.” Turning his head to his couch fellow.

“Really, Damian? Really? Just because some are rich, doesn’t mean all.”

“You have Olympic winners, Grayson. You could garner the investment, especially from those snotty fools.”

Counter-argued, “I have more than enough to live and pay rent.”

“Yet here I am, having more money than you had as allowance as Wayne’s Ward.” Grayson muttered the notion it never did work like that, before ignoring him outright.

“Then divide the expenses.”

“No fucking way, if I did that I might lose my actual paying clients from both sides.”

“So, have you’ve heard from Drake as of late?”

If his sour mood wasn’t almost completely gone, it return ‘with a vengeance’. In a soft voice, managed “Let’s not.”

 

* * *

 

Working as a personal aide had pretty mundane downsides, luckily the old man never asked for him to pick up a feathered duster. Terry doubted he live through the onsweep of dust and – not – become highly allergic. At worse, helped dust his sleeping quarters and the kitchen. Avoiding the bathroom, however, the old timer was human. Wouldn’t be taken back – if he could live without normal human needs.

The Batcave fell along the lines of being Batman, so he didn’t count it together with his part-time, almost full-time, job. The pay was good, it could be better – tho’ he’d suppose if he did get that type of paid, consequently, there’d be more routine pay cuts; considering how often the stuff he utilized, especially the batsuit, got damaged.

Today, unlike many, he was actually doing his job as an aide then Batman.

Bruce had a small dislocated hip problem and forced into bed rest, assuring the hospital himself. After all, if he didn’t, Bruce would have been forced to stay inside the hospital – so they compromised. Today no patrol. Tomorrow patrolling nonstop until former Batman was satisfied. Cooking came second nature, living mostly alone after his old man divorced, and occasionally babysitting. Not much different, really. Instead of a five year old twip, he had an eighty-five year old rich geezer – on occasion an actual, stubborn, man-child. Didn’t want to do this nor that, complained about certain aspects, and whatever didn’t fit his perfect vision.

At the very least, the food he’d cooked or prepared never received harsh criticism. Maybe due to the fact: The Lord of the Night, Batman, feared by super-villians everywhere, couldn’t cook to save his life.

Tea, yes. But how could one screw up brewing water with one ingredient?

In retrospect, enlighten by the pasta incident. Life’s cruel mistress taught him a valued, unshway, lesson: anything broken beyond repair wasn’t worth the hardship. No old dog learned any new trick. As-if part of the law’s of the universe, Bruce Wayne should never touch kitchen utensils, unless the bare minimum requirements. He fiddles with the very same pasta Bruce touched and done the impossible, the memory still burned and question the very realm of existence that Batman stood upon to create such disasters.

 

“Please tell me you’re not going to be the next person to hound me on my kitchen skills.” The cane tapped the marble floors, Ace boofed for food, tail waggling like no tomorrow. “Alfred never forgave me.”

“Well this is your house and I am not a butler, but for my sanity I might as well?” After all bossman was the bossman. No what, ifs, or buts about it. “If could, of course.”

“I can’t blame you, the food I make is filled with the necessities. Taste, however, leaves much to desire. I once gave food poisoning to myself making a tuna sandwich, Jason laughed for days.” Chuckling, the man settle himself down at the bay window’s installed couch.

“I’m guessing one of those many wards, you had, huh?” Stirring the shimmering sauce, adding vegetables and spices, a bit of broth alongside the cooking pork. “How many kids did you adopt anyway, how is it possible that not a single one remained?”

“I rather not speak about that. However, you remind me,” Glancing out the window, his face dulled and harden in equal measure, mumbling in a joyous tone, “far too often, about him. The only person who could cook, apart from Alfred.”

“Well if you wanna eat, gotta cook. Nothing short of simple logic,” He couldn’t help teasing pointing, the somewhat cursed, fork at the old man. “but rich is what rich does, eh?”

 

Bruce rolled his eyes, watching the white Labrador running in the lawn. The poor thing lacked a single anterior leg. It was far more docile than Scooby. Maybe the man was a gambler because it felt the theme of each pet was ~ casino. Roulette’s bite came off scarier than any bark from Ace. Unpredictable, her brown accepting eyes hid a rather ferocious creature. Trained, eerily-like, for a blind patient. Knowing how to open many doors and entrance.

 

“So, am I going to do everything or can you help with the table?”

Cutthroat reply “I’m still bedridden, so do you job.”

“You really shouldn’t have hobble here, but always had to be difficult, don’tcha?”

“I’m not using a wheelchair. I’m not that old,” Ending with the lowest voice ever, “yet.”

Raising a brow, the dish almost finished and mixed the meat, sauteing it to perfection.

 

“What would be without me?” A smile grace his lips, unable helping hounding the man for his normal human flaws. Sure, he’d heart problems. Yet it rarely ever came back up since their first encounter. Grabbing the plate, placing half the food and added a store bought caesar salad, old people were crazy about it, apparently. “Violà an ediable – and – tasty meal, your welcome.”

“Hmphm.” Pouring himself water, Terry grabbed a small wine bottle from the refrigerator, if he wanted something ‘better’ than soda. Bruce watched and rose a brow, taking a bite of both things, so he could send him away faster. “Thank you, I guess. But what I’d be without you? Fine.”

 

“Of course, but whatta about The Batman? I’m super important!” Faking a hurt expression, mocking the all-important I-don’t-care-about-anybody Bruce Wayne. The grumpy man could learned a few more kinder expressions from his yesteryears.

“Of course you are...” The tone lacked the usual indifference, despite that, Terry couldn’t make head or tails what the underlining emotion was. Most likely jest. But he wasn’t the greatest at betting. “Go home, I can take care of the rest.”

“What did you say five minutes ago? Imma not leaving until you’re in bed. As much as I’m missing my social life, I do have an obligation to you alongside the elderly.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, not happening. Good thing you have a no kill rule, because I probably never have to use the best, overused, metaphor ever.”

“Which is?”

“Over my dead body, or the better one, pry it from my dead cold hands.”

“Lucky you.”

“Lucky me, now I’ll clean up your room and help you up.”

“If I paid you seven hundred creds now, will you leave?”

“Don’t tempt me.” That was a buck-load of money. He could reconcile with Dana and maybe even get something for himself.

“Leave now, so I can finally have peace and quiet.”

“Nope, your stuck with me,” Pausing, those creds would momentarily give him a better time he’d had in weeks. Temptation pushed his common sense aside, this was Bruce they were talking about, meagerly hoped. “but could you give me it anyway?”

“No, you loss your one and only chance, McGinnis.” Cutting his food and finally giving in, he wasn’t leaving, so Bruce glared unhappily.

His shoulder dropped, speaking sardonically “I’m _so sorry, I’m such an upstanding citizen._ ”

Groaning and turning heel towards the upstairs, leaving the old man to his devices.

 

The upstairs’ rims were filthy, darken the brown near black, their pillars resisted no better than unearthly tones it took. Drapes throughout fluttered, hoping somehow they’d help get rid the unnecessary stuffiness confiding these halls. Terry had it up to here with pointless rooms smelling like muff or without air. Maybe the ventilation helped the old man not suffocate, however, he missed the oxygen in his lungs. When he walked back down, he’d have to close every single window; a burden he have to bear alone, sadly.

Seven rooms doors past, an ajar door creaked, the night’s twilight hued a world of blue and shadows. Pictures from days past, objects belonging an era forgotten by time’s relentlessness indifference, and a surprising amount of lacking dust-mites. He even had a balcony directed towards the backyard, a distant moon remain transparent and slowly consolidated, watching down upon them this lonely evening.

A lot had changed these recent months, he thought as he grabbed his sheet and sprayed the disinfectant, wiping away most begrimed surfaces.

Losing most his ordinary social life and trading it for the world’ betterment; acknowledging the selfish desire for vengeances regarding the unjust plaguing this world. People choosing the obvious corrupted instead of striving for difficult choices that woulda made a far more wonderful world. If not that, at least, a survivable one. He was one of the luckier kids, bad temper and all, but a middle-class one at that. When push come to shove, his parents were always there, despite the fact they indirect made his life hell for years before the inevitable divorce.

But when he’d failed, it hurt in a manner so indescribable—.

Then he had to die, didn’t he?

A ruined relationship which would never have the chance to heal. Accepting the mistakes they both made. An impossible situation, a looping supposition hidden within the corners of his mind. Always returning and never stopped its earnest naivete. He wasn’t a child and knew better…

Because it hurt, the stronger he’d desired a rather unlikely possibility.

Now he dealt with a man, who had not a single thing remaining. Cold cut and bitter. Somebody who drank their coffee black. But history told another story: a man with a family, friends and more. Where did it all go wrong? If the Dark Knight could fail simple things than so could everybody else. He’d like believing.

Maybe it was a comforting delusion, after all, Brucie is what he’d named that playboy imagine. A persona he’d discarded when his company started losing its connections.

The man wasn’t the chattiest, but sure implied enough, even he’d could connect the dots.

Honestly, everybody forgot about Batman around his generation. Becoming an urban legend among street gangs and criminals once a decade passed. When their fateful encounter occurred, discovering the hidden cavern behind the grandfather clock, he’d looked up whatever information he could regarding the once feared Batman. A man who helped reform a few cases, but inevitably, mostly ended up caging up the same mastermind, over and over again. Stopping a few mobsters and some large human trafficking for good. Those sickos. Nevertheless, no matter whatever good deed Bruce Wayne did or whatever crime Batman helped stop, Gotham rotted without restraint.

After all, Lex Luthor got elected president, alongside other obvious bad candidates.

It wasn’t all surprising when age took its toll on the man, that crime spread immediately within Gotham’s old streets onto the new cityscape’s above layer. Wayne-Drake turned into Wayne-Powers, et cetera and et cetera. His hand retrieved and changed the bed sheets, throwing them inside the laundry basket. Dragging down the first floor’s eastern wing, down into the actually normal basement with anti-muff painted walls. Peaking through the kitchen the old man had finished and probably sat down around the first floor lobby or the upstairs library.

The machine turned on, probably needed two hours tops, with the clock around six Terry prayed his whole night wouldn’t need him to fold said clothing. If so, he’d be stuck till midnight.

Unlike a night fighting crime, where he could fly home. Stuck taking public transport since his motorcycle got stuck in the repair shop. His willingness faded with every passing minute. Disregarding the unexpected boring nature today presented, his moral work ethnic would never let him live this down. Maybe he could chat up with his friends, if they be willing. Max knowing his other job made venting casual instead of vagueblogging the crap out his boss.

He still wanted those sweet, sweet creds.

But he had to be the better man. The old man probably felt some pride, he wasn’t a worthless greedy slagger. Or maybe it was nice believing such a notion.

Weakness had no place in neither Batman or the Wayne Manor. The stubborn mule.

Grabbing the plates, he started rinsing the easier kitchenware while soaking the other utilizes, which needed harsher scrubbing to wipe off the encrusted ingredients. Letting them soak, grabbed a broom and swept the – still – dusty floor, despite his last month’s attempt. How was Bruce alive was beyond him. His mother always complained how dirty his room was when it’s the cleanest thing compared to this nightmare. After that and the dishes, he’d returned upstairs and finally started closing the windows, finishing his final track from east wing back to western wing containing Master Bruce’s room.

His work finally seemed complete, disinfecting just about everything that it blurred till half-an-hour’s worth of time.

 

“So are you finally leaving?” With both dogs in tow, the old man rose a brow, always having such a courteous tone. “I’d like to have my privacy back.”

Rolling his eyes, Terry’s patience snapped. Sighing, trying to exhale all the bad mojo, followed an offhanded reply, “Sure mister Wayne, your goin’ to b’d nao?”

Silence followed, old man Wayne stared at his increasingly degrading grammar.

If Wayne wanted to be childish, so could he.

Then the sigh came back to him. Holding back a groan, frustration reaching its breaking point, said “I’m almost done, Mister Wayne. Just finished your room, going to clean you lobby than put the bed sheets into the dryer and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Nice guess, but I went to the library.” Those crow's feet loosen, smiling with smart-ass twinkle in his eyes. Retiring to his room, finished off saying blithely, “McGinnis, there’s no need to waste anymore time here. Just go home or at the very least, forget the dryer of all things. You know as well as I, they don’t get changed weekly—, if at all.”

“I’ll dry them then leave, okay?” He pointed his thumb down south, if they didn’t get wash they smell of muff and Terry just had it up here with moldy smell.

“Sure, but please leave. MY patience is thin.”

“ _I didn’t notice._ ” He snorted.

Bruce rolled his own eyes and kept the door ajar for the dogs, probably?

 

* * *

 

The full moon shined in the unusual cleared sky, a rare occasion last night’s storm provided. No stars shone. Light pollution never failed preventing their twinkle. Nevertheless, Terry had never seen such an unsettling beauty. The manor, at times, displayed this very same scene. But on the outskirts of Gotham, anything was possible. All the reason why his instincts kicked into overdrive – warning him something was lurking within these shadows. Bruce listened, as he swept above each district, catching a few goons here and there; nothing particularly special.

A set of eyes settled onto his shoulder blades, discerning its sensation within the ends of the third hours of the night. Accumulating tension both mentally and physically, unable to relax. Knowing full well somebody stalked him.

Was the person trying to find Batman’s hideout? Or trying to find him off-guard?

Soaring downtown Neo-Gotham, Jokerz mischief lacked its usual nefarious mishaps. Leaving him no choice but to check Gotham’s Square Park. The air whistling in his ears, jawline tighten, he simply couldn’t escape this stalker.

“Bruce, somebody’s tracking me for the last two hours since the clock struck seven.” He said, radioing headquarters and turning on his visuals, in case those extra set of eyes could see something he’d missed.

“Oh, he’s here then. You did seem quite cranky in your newfound silent contemplation.” Not letting yesterday’s good deed go unpunished. How did he become a superhero again? Had Bizzaro stole the old timer’s place? Maybe, if he was lucky. Bruce continued in the same light tone, almost unfitting. Better than the other casual moods. “Just stop and wait for him to come down, I’m surprise he hadn’t visit us earlier.”

“Us? You mean me and you, Bruce? Since when has there been, US? Are you implying you see this guy?”

“Yes, after all unlike me, you still go to school, when else would we meet without you knowing?”

“On purpose or simply convenience.”

“Convenience, believe me – he’d have your head since your debut, if the opportunity had shown itself.”

“Names shouldn’t be said in Comm-links. You, of all people, know this, Batman.” A new voice hijacked their communication. Or maybe it wasn’t the correct term but sure as hell felt like it! An adult male, no doubt, and cranky too. Ordering, as-if only natural he’d follow. “Pretender, meet me up at Old Gotham Hall of Records. No later, if you know what’s good for you.”

Scoffing at the demand. He still couldn’t scope out this shady asshole.

“Follow him, McGinnis.” Bruce said gently.

Pressing his ear as he’d land, examining the whole area up and down with every possible vision installed, still failed finding where the other person stalked from.

“Really? It’s not like you to be so,” Pausing, glancing around. “trusting.”

“I don’t trust him that much.” Explaining, doing whatever he did. “However, me and him have discuss fine guidelines. I think its in both of our best interest: if you follow.”

“Oh really, when were you gonna fill me in buddy? Whenever this randomly pop up or you toldame a bit too late.” Complaining, he soared once more, hearing that god forsaken smirk as his endgame answer.

 

Truly, is there no greater asshole than one’s boss or was Bruce a ‘special case’ of the god awful?

The trip didn’t take long. Passing few modern and olden buildings, crime decided tonight was enough because he hadn’t seen another trace left of crime. Maybe stalker-boy decide to give and extra helping hand? Possibly, did Batman overlook crime? Hopefully not. This – wasn’t something Bruce ever let him live down. Not until his last dying breath and seven feet underground.

The city lights illuminated the boundary between the remaining world and the forgotten era. Passing its golden outline, he flew down and settled his feet onto a ruined building. There from behind the rooftop’s door. Emerging from its shadow came out a young man, maybe twice his age? His face hidden beneath a black, hard-cover mask with a curved nose/mouth. Blacken orbs glowed crimson and slanted in a glare. The feathery indents gave off an illusion of actual feathers attached the man’s body. Slick and crisp, a brown synthetic hoodie hanged on an easily detachable choker distinguish itself against the black aesthetic.

“And you might you be? Riding hood’s ugly grandmother?” Pointing at his outfit design.

Clucking his tongue, the older man rebuffed “I don’t have time to waste on such replaceable trash. You dress as a bat. What makes you so great, pretender?”

“I protect the city.”

“So do I. What makes you so special? Living off of somebody else’s success.” His scorn ripen, leaving Terry a slight worried as his radio sounded Bruce small snort of amusement. Clicking his tongue quicker than last, scowling further as those glaring eyes began piercing. “Barely can keep this city from exploding.”

Grimacing, between Inque and Mad Stan, fending and preventing these explosive villains were a hard bargain.

“What can I say, they’re villains, preventing certain things is impossible for anybody.” Shrugging, perplexion featured throughout his mask. Pointing his finger, prodded “And who the hell are you? The old timer’s not saying anything and I’ve never even heard of you.”

His small hook nose rose high, crimson uncolored condescending eyes popped up, shivering goosebumps Terry’s neck. Replied “Corvus, I usually work in Bludhaven or elsewhere. This rotten city is beyond saving and I only see interest in who replaced Batman.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Terry snide. That name roused his memory of faded icons. “I guess somebody else is in the crime-fighting business making copy-cat names too, huh? Too bad Raven’s trademark, had to settle down to the next best thing.”

“Why you… Insolent, worthless McGuffin. How dare you.” Anger shook every fiber of Crowman’s being. Taking a single step forward before gesturing his clawed hand upwards. “Give me a single reason not to wipe you off this miserable earth?”

Deciding finally to intervene, Bruce spoke clearly inside their comms. “Come on, Corvus. I told you how he can be, let’s get straight to the point then you can have your little hissy-fit. I, unlike you two, rather continue on our patrol.”

“Batman, I can do anything afterward, right?”

“I say its fair game, McGinnis could learn some respect.”

“Oh my god.” Exasperation heave, rigidness hit his body completely. Working nearly 14 hours a day, seven days a week, wasn’t worth being put between this match-up. “I pretty sure if I wasn’t in the equation, you’d be dead and forgotten.. I am not chop-liver, give credit where’s credit is due. Is it too much to ask?!”

“Pretender and Batman, these name of field shenanigans must end, immediately. Do you want to be compromise.”

“I’m Batman.” Terry reminded, he’s the active mantle.

“Yes, and I’m Robin.” A deadpanned retort, crossing his arm, Corvus step-by-step closed in till they were an inch apart. His cape fluttered against the tailwinds, the city below and behind echoed its livelihood as the silence kneaded deep into their small world of weirdos. “Find a field name for both of you, I’ll call you Batman when you’ve earned it.”

“And how I’m suppose to earn that?”

“Training, of course. I can understand why picked such a random street rat; it isn’t the first nor the last.” Walking pass his shoulder, a humming sound lit a blue hue underneath that cape, finishing with a prideful conviction. “However, with time, I can make Batman great again. You and I shall meet in public soon, may your first impression as a civilian be not as petty as today.”

 

In a flash of azure tinted light, the Bludhaven’s vigilante vanished.

 

Pressing the communicator, remarked “He’s got fancy technology.”

“Don’t worry, he has far more than a single asset.” Bruce assured. “You know how I am regarding anybody outside us. He’s just as human as you or me, been working the business longer than you’ve been alive, and far more longer than any sidekick, I’ve met.”

“Younger than Pixie Boots?”

“Maybe just as long,” Bruce choose his words carefully, the oddest thing of tonight. “If a line is crossed, I won’t hesitate in breaking our old ties. His ability is a thing we both need. He will be pushing you into a further level, where I won’t have to worry about you without your suit.”

His boots boosted him up, backtracking his original scouring route.

“So he’s teaching me Martial Arts?”

“Not really, he’s making the calls considering your body-type, your street fighting methods, and so on. He didn’t like my original idea of teaching, such, violà – our compromise. He reign freedom in your development and will help patrol, rarely, while in return I’m helping in following up his rather complicated cases, which even Pixie Boots can’t seem to crack.”

“Are you chuckling?” He said, appalled. “Who are you? What you’ve done _impostor_ _!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, seems you got demoted to sidekick, eh?” Max mused. Having far too much fun than should be allowed, he thought. Well, it beat doing biology. A subject almost – almost, as hateful as family studies. God, how he despised that class, barely passing too. The teacher rambled on and on, the day never seem to want to end, and their recent math test literally destroyed him.

“If Mr. Wayne can ‘trust’ him.” Emphasizing the quotation marks. “Then it means I found an actual tutor for being Gotham’s dark knight. Just as warm and cuddly as the old geezer himself. Don’t think I could of found a quasi counterpart anywhere else. And apparently he’s been two-timing me, too.”

“Oooh,” Scoouting closer, hips swaying, “is that jealousy I hear?” grinning from ear to ear, and crossing her legs.

“Ha-ha. Really? But gotta be honest, I thought he was out of the business for a long time now.” When he’d enter the cave, the dust settled in real good. There’s no way Bruce was active before their encounter. “It just doesn’t make much sense.”

“Well outta the game completely, I have my doubts. Maybe he just played detective with people who knew him before he’d retired.”

“That manor is empty – empty – Max. Nobody, not a single soul, but the Commish had entered there in the last twenty years. It’s weird.” Eyeing Mrs. Cardel scrutinizing stare, typing notes on the public computers, pretending to listen. He noticed Dana in the corner of the classroom, smiling and giving a small wave towards him. Today, permission and everything, scot-free by the usual patrol and his part-time job. “I will give feather-boy one thing though: I am free since last night till the moment he shows.”

“Then Corvus gonna show himself soon?”

“If I’m lucky, not too soon.”

“When the last time luck been on your side?”

That caught his tongue. It was too good to be true. No matter which angle he’d looked at it. Does this mean, he’d been screwed over again? Oh how often does he have to be fooled before he learns better? Bruce simply didn’t understand the necessity of freedom. Or worse-case scenario, disturbing if it held water, Bruce hasn’t exactly forgive him since two days ago.

“Bruce isn’t an inhumane monster, is he?”

“He’s a businessman, inhumane is usually the foundation of these types of jobs. Sob story or no.”

“God have mercy on me.”

“You think this is punishment?”

“I don’t know but—.” Mrs. Cardel’s head swung faster than a metronome, eyes squinting at whoever was talking. Ducking behind his computer and faked typed, whispering when the coast was clear. “He sure loves making me jump high hoops. And here I thought, thinking I’m going to have the day of my life – and a life!”

Max lost her composure, her body shaking, holding back the laughter wanting to burst from within.

“Gibson, care to tell the class what’s so amusing?”

Like a deer in headlights the conversation cut short. School sixth and seventh period remain boring and uneventful, not even having the luck that his double period of geometry shared either Dana or Maxine. The ringing bells sounded exactly like the angel’s trumpets of hallelujahs declaring freedom. The weekends’ night started today, regrouping with the girls alongside Chelsea, Blade, Howard – much to the other girls’ displeasure –, and Nelson. Mostly chatting the latest party invite, one of the most average cheerleaders promising a lifetime’s worth of fun tonight at her place. Jared even recommended it, giving her words more weight than previously.

Scanning the landscape, seeing no uncommon face, continue agreeing with his girlfriend. Maybe this was his lucky break, just maybe…

“You are let loose on your leash? Terry McGinnis, you better not be playing me.” Dana teased, Chelsea shaking her head at the madness confining their relationship. Nelson and Blade left soon after. The jock’s assholery knew no bounds, pushing their friend around before parting. The fact nobody ever does anything always affected him personally since taking the mantle. But bullying wasn’t a criminal act, sadly.

Chelsea pressed their undisclosed problems. “And no ‘Mr. Wayne phone me’, nobody believes it.”

“You’ve met the man, haven’t you? Don’t you know how spoiled and entitled he is?!”

Chelsea sighed, arms crossed and she continued forward. “Sure, sure.”

“Oh be nice, Terry’s a lot better than some and more.” Dana wrapped her arms around his, leaning onto his shoulder smiling. Beautiful black hair fluttered against the breeze, velvety black eyes peered at him, holding him to his word. They’ve had their rough patch and Ratboy definitely helped, in the worse way, his situation. It bothered him, but equally content they were – trying – again. “We’re going to dance and have a good time, right?”

“Yeah...” Three years ago, few months after Juvy, they met in that commonplace where everybody escaped their problems. A double-life threaten to take her from him. He didn’t need anymore hassle, and Max helped the situation, but if an ultimatum ever arose: he didn’t, really, have a choice.

 

No matter what…

 

No matter why….

 

Gulping, realizing something fairly unsettling. If there wasn’t a doubt in his mind and there wasn’t any other choice.

 

“Something the matter, Ter?” He looked down, his feet rooted itself into the pavement. Sickness swelled in the innermost part of himself, threatening everything important around him, reminding him that tomorrow they might even be part of his normal civilian life. Eventually, a choice would have to be made. Most likely, her frown tug his heartstrings, he choose the moment he became Batman.

Dana wasn’t Max, and he couldn’t risk her knowing; not just himself but because this belong to Bruce.

Wayne-Powers disputes were fragile, any word of Batman’s real identity being found could destroy whatever lead they had. And he didn’t, couldn’t and wouldn’t trust her, if given the chance. Because if she’d ever betray them or he became the reason she ever got hurt, there wouldn’t remain anything left. And which scenario rang worse wasn’t something he even wanted to think about.

Taking a deep breath, acting out his daily lies, replied “Yeah, worried for a sec if the old man’s oven is off. You’d be surprise what poisons he’s capable of.”

“Doesn’t he have like staff?”

“Must of fired them all, because all I ever see is edible goop and tea. Goop and Tea, the man’s cursed. I swear.”

Max added to his joke. “All I know the man was always occupied by a butler, never thought of replacing him.”

“Well, he won’t drive his own car unless a danger’s onfoot.” Knowing it firsthand.

 

“Hmm… Well, I suppose that is a worrisome conundrum.” Dana ceded, tonight would surely be a wild night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm keeping the DCAU universe for the time being, intergrating the possibility the batfamily could be existing despite their being 1 batgirl, 2 robins and a single robin never mentioned (poor Jason, no love whatsoever). I'd add Dhuke but I've never read his comics yet, would add Misfit, but gotta reread her comics or when she's in another's comic. I love Father!Richard, and especially love Dynamic Duo Classic Version and Modern Version. Gotta admit i Read the (all) Batman Beyond comics instead of rewatching the animated series first, big mistake, because I could barely find interest in the rogue because I forgot about them. So been re-watching the animated series Q_Q sad what a small life Batman Beyond had.
> 
> Also fuck, if Damian existed, there be hell. Poor kid can't catch a fucking break in DC, Q_Q. I'd add Catwoman but she's just mentioned.


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